


Moving Towards

by sunrise_and_death



Series: Travelers [2]
Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Child Abuse, Codependency, Exploration of Sexualities, Exy, Juvie, M/M, Magical Realism, Past Rape/Non-con, Pre-Canon, Pre-Slash, Psychic Bond, Sort Of, also sort of
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-07
Updated: 2018-10-13
Packaged: 2019-07-08 07:49:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,112
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15926048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunrise_and_death/pseuds/sunrise_and_death
Summary: Juvienoun1. A detention center or court for juvenile offenders.2. The place where Neil becomes Neil, Andrew starts playing Exy, and they strike a deal.





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> Part two of my Travelers universe. Per the summary, this installment will cover Andrew's time in juvie. It will also make probably zero sense if you haven't read [part one](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15292026), so I strongly recommend doing that first.
> 
> The title is a reference to one of Karen Horney's three trends of neurotic people. I'm probably not using it right; I know nothing about psychology. That goes for the pseudo-academia that begins this section as well.
> 
> Thanks again to those how have commented on the first part! You are all the sweetest.
> 
> (Also thanks to my friend who told me things about German. Because I know nothing about German either.)

_The nature of Traveling often intertwines the Pair. It would be unusual for a Pair not to be close; indeed, many often relocate their lives in order to live close to their Traveler, and romantic relationships between Travelers happen on a frequent basis._

_But psychologist Laura Han has noted a tendency toward codependency in Pairs in her recent book,_ The Psychological Dangers of Traveling _. Han must fight on more than one front: The mere notion of codependency as a negative trait or personality disorder garners a certain amount of derision from some scholars, and romanticization of Traveling makes many unwilling to consider the potential negatives of the system._

_Still, Han does a deft job of using what evidence she can gather to make a compelling point. If we accept Bowen’s Family Theory and that the opposite of codependency is a well-differentiated self, then Han points out that Travelers are, universally, people with poorly differentiated selves. In a 2002 survey by the Agency for the Rights of Travelers, 94 percent of Travelers said that they felt their Traveler was intrinsic to their identity._

_Additionally, a study by the National Institute on Drug Abuse found that Travelers were 67 percent less likely to overcome addiction than their peers; Han argues that the specific relationship developed due to Traveling leads to unhealthy enabling behavior—a crucial part of codependency._

_While there is not enough evidence to fully support Han’s thesis (and many have already argued that codependent relationships are by definition one-sided), her book proves that closer examination of the psychology of Travelers is deeply needed. I propose a study that specifically targets…_

Excerpt from “A Proposed Study on the Mental Health of Travelers” by Aditi Chawla

 

* * *

 

ONE YEAR LATER

 

Neil likes being Neil.

He can’t be Neil all the time, unfortunately. But whenever he’s with Andrew, he can slip off whoever else he’s been like an ill-fitting coat and slide back into being Neil.

Neil is the best person he’s ever been, even better than when he was Abram. The only thing Abram has over Neil is Exy, but Neil has Andrew, so it’s an easy trade.

Otherwise, Neil has all the best parts of Abram and even some of his flaws. It makes Neil feel almost real.

“It’s when you say things like that that you seem the most unreal,” Andrew tells him once, classically unamused.

 _I’m not a hallucination,_ Neil retorts, a bit wounded. Andrew has a tendency to roll his eyes at what he calls Neil’s “burgeoning multi-personality disorder,” but he’s usually careful not to poke that open wound too hard.

“You are a pipedream,” Andrew says. He relents a few seconds later. “You are you. Pretending to be other people does not make you less real.”

Neil disagrees, but he keeps quiet. He tells Andrew everything except for his thoughts about Andrew. He doesn’t think Andrew would like them. He’s not sure what Andrew would do if Neil told him that he’s the one who makes Neil real. Neil doesn’t know who he would be if he hadn’t had a Traveler. Someone worse, he thinks. Someone totally dependent on his mother. Someone who couldn’t do anything but run.

Admittedly, he still does a lot of running. He and his mother are slowly making their way across Germany. Neil no longer bothers settling in at a new school because he knows they won’t be staying there long. Somehow his father’s men keep finding them, no matter where they hide.

“Maybe she’s just not as good at keeping you safe as she says she is,” Andrew suggests. Their deal means Neil gets to keep his mother, but Andrew has never pretended to be happy about it.

Neil sometimes feels guilty because he knows that the entire promise is unfair; there’s little chance of Andrew ever seeing Aaron. But since they swore themselves to each other, Andrew has devoted himself to Neil in a way that Neil doesn’t want to give up. He gets a thrill whenever he appears and Andrew automatically turns the full weight of his attention on Neil. He’s never felt so seen before.

He’s also never spent so much time with someone who isn’t his mother. Their family situation meant she’d never allowed him to get too close to anyone from school or Exy even before they went on the run. He’d liked his teammates because they were good on the court and friendly enough, but he’s already forgotten most of their names.

Andrew’s the first person he’s really gotten the chance to know. He likes it—the recurring conversations, running jokes, toothless debates, and bone-deep familiarity. And he likes Andrew himself, even though it feels like they spend most of their time disagreeing about things. Andrew is the most solid, trustworthy person he’s ever met. There’s a part of him that thinks—even if it’s unrealistic—that if he fled to California, Andrew could shoulder all of his burdens with ease. When Neil’s with Andrew, it’s like they’re the only ones in the world.

Of course, they aren’t, not really. Most of the time, Neil Travels to Andrew because even though Higgins got Andrew into the nicest possible facility, Andrew still has a roommate and doesn’t like laying around defenseless. Besides, Neil likes the consistency of Andrew’s facility. Every week, a schedule is put out and events actually adhere to it. Neil trails along to classes, group counseling, recreation, and meals. He’s Andrew’s sole company; not only has Andrew kept his deal, but the other kids have been wary of him since he beat up two of the older boys during his first week.

Neil hadn’t been there; he’d Traveled that night to find Andrew in a solitary room with a vicious black eye and two bruised ribs. The other two, apparently, had gotten off much worse. Starting after that, Andrew had taken advantage of the mandated exercise time in the gym, rotating between the weights and punching bags. Already, his shoulders seem broader, although Neil has noticed he hasn’t gotten any taller.

It’s actually hard to imagine Andrew any taller. He manages to pack so much intensity into his five-foot body that Neil secretly hopes he won’t change. Considering he’s fourteen and hasn’t grown more than a quarter of an inch in the time Neil’s known him, it’s not so unlikely.

 _Does it bother you, being short?_ Neil asks him one day. Andrew’s practicing his German, which basically means Neil makes him answer random questions and then corrects his grammar, pronunciation, and vocabulary. He has less and less to correct recently.

Andrew’s responding look is withering. “No.” He gestures at Neil’s less-than-impressive stature. “Does it bother you? You aren’t any taller than me.”

 _I’m only thirteen,_ Neil points out _, and I think I am, actually._

“No, you just aren’t shorter anymore.” It’s impossible to argue with Andrew on these things, because his memory means he’s always right. “And being short is good. People underestimate you.”

It’s a very Andrew sort of thing to say. Innately distrustful of everyone, he generally slots people into one of two categories: boring or threats. Neil is the only exception that’s lasted. Aaron does not count.

Ninety-nine percent of the world falls into the boring category, including the other kids in juvie, the classes Andrew attends, and the shrinks he alternately terrifies and freezes out. Which is why Neil doesn’t learn Andrew’s been put on the Exy team until he spots the Exy uniform draped over the full laundry bin.

 _Is that Jonathan’s?_ Neil asks. Andrew’s roommate is a hulking figure, the sort of person he could easily imagine as a backliner on the court.

Andrew barely glances at it. “It’s mine,” he says as he pulls the German dictionary he stole from the facility's library out from under the mattress.

Neil feels a rush of longing so strong that he can’t sign for a moment. _You play Exy? You didn’t tell me._

“I didn’t realize it was anything to tell.”

_You know I played._

Andrew tosses the book to the side, clearly giving it up as a loss. “I figured watching a man get skinned right after playing might have ruined it for you.”

Neil frowns at him. _No,_ he says, _why would you think that?_

“Because for a second I forgot what a walking tragedy you are,” Andrew says. “And also because most people grow out of childish obsessions, especially if they turn deadly.”

Neil ignores the last bit. “You play Exy. It can’t be that childish.”

“I don’t have a choice.” Andrew makes a circular motion with his hand. “Everyone has to be part of a team here. They think it will socialize us.”

Neil can’t take his eyes off the uniform. He’d give almost anything to be able to play again, but his mother’s made it clear that’s an impossibility. She doesn’t even like it when he watches games, boxing his ears whenever she finds that he’s flipped one on, so he’s forced to sneak around to keep up on things. He’s got a whole secret stash of articles about Riko and Kevin, who are increasingly in the public eye. He never did learn why he got to meet them, but a part of him wonders just how good he would be now if he’d been able to keep playing with them.

Andrew steps in front of him, blocking the uniform with his body. “You’re still hung up on it,” he observes. “What is it about this stupid sport that has you craving it like a junkie?”

Neil blinks at him. No one has ever really tried to talk Exy with him before. _It’s the best sport ever invented_ , he signs blankly. He doesn’t know how to describe the way Exy makes him feel. _Don’t you like it?_

“It’s a way to waste time at best,” Andrew tells him bluntly.

The two of them don’t always agree—in fact, they disagree a fair amount of the time—but Andrew has never been more incomprehensible to him. _It’s probably because you aren’t any good yet_ , Neil says, partly to reassure himself. _You haven’t even been playing for a year. You’ll like it more once you’re done learning._ He has vague memories of frustration before he’d learn to instinctively pass and block, although most of what he remembers is the rush he’d get from thwarting a play. _What position do you play?_

“I should have thrown that uniform in the trash,” Andrew mutters.

_I thought you didn’t believe in regret._

“This isn’t regret. This is a note for the future. I’m never letting you near anything related to Exy again.” Andrew turns away, clearly intending to shove the gear fully into the bin.

Neil darts in front of him. _Wait,_ he signs, and some of his desperation must come through because Andrew pauses. _Will you tell me when you play? I won’t make you talk about it. I just want to watch._

Andrew’s eyes search his face. But, like he usually does when Neil asks for something, he doesn’t say no. “We practice every weekday for an hour at four,” he says instead. That explains why Neil has never seen it—at midnight, he’s usually in bed with his mother. “I’m on the bench a lot of the time, so don’t expect anything much.”

All Neil is expecting is Exy, so he doesn’t think he could be disappointed. It’ll be difficult to manage, but he’s determined.

 _I’ll be there,_ he promises. And Neil is the type of person who keeps his promises.

 

* * *

 

Perhaps expecting it to be Exy was a little bit much.

 _My Little League team played better,_ Neil complains from his place beside Andrew on the bench. This is his third day and it’s the first time he’s seen the team actually scrimmage; the other two days they’d just run drills. It’s not really been worth the risk Neil’s taking Traveling while in bed with his mom, but he has been impressed with how natural an Exy racquet looks in Andrew’s hands. Given that, it makes no sense to him that Andrew is seated on the bench with a few clearly hopeless players.

They’re in public, so Andrew can’t really respond without seeming crazier than everyone already thinks he is. He wouldn’t anyway, Neil suspects; he’s taken to ignoring Neil whenever Exy is so much as mentioned. It doesn’t take much work—all he has to do is look away. It’s one of Neil’s least favorite things about Traveling.

Luckily, being invisible has its perks. Neil leaves Andrew to be bored on the sidelines and jogs onto the court. There’s no burn in his legs or pull of breath in his chest—reminders that his real body is tucked away in bed, not in California. But Neil tries to forget that as he runs up and down the court pretending he has a racquet in his hands. He switches sides based on who’s playing the poorest and keeps a tally on how much better they’d be doing if he was actually there. It’s not bad; his body remembers the motions even if it isn’t real.

Neil is so caught up in his own fantasy that he almost misses the coach calling, “Doe!” and summoning Andrew onto the court.

Andrew deliberately avoids him as he walks over to the goal, but Neil moves in front of him once he’s positioned. _We’re going to beat you,_ he says, indicating him and his faux-teammates.

Andrew swings his racquet casually to the side, making a show of stretching. It looks almost as tall as he is. The jersey they’ve given him, on the other hand, is tight over his broadening shoulders. “Move,” he tells Neil lowly. “I can’t see through you.”

He’d forgotten about that. Flushing, Neil runs off to the side and carefully selects the best spot to watch Andrew from. He lifts his hands to tell Andrew good luck but realizes he isn’t looking.

The scrimmage resumes with a subpar pass from the opposing team’s dealer to one of their strikers, who nearly fumbles it. It’s painful for Neil to watch their clumsy attempts to advance up the court and even more painful to note that Andrew’s backliners are pitiful enough that they manage it. The two strikers come close enough that one of them dares a shot on Andrew.

There’s no hesitation in Andrew’s swing. He begins moving before the ball has even left the striker’s net. He hits the ball solidly, clearing it up the court with a loud crack.

For Neil, it’s a revelation.

There’s no way any of the other players will be able to send it back anytime soon, so Neil doesn’t feel bad about sprinting up to Andrew and demanding his attention. _That was amazing,_ he says. _You’re really good. Why didn’t you tell me you were good?_

With the helmet obscuring his face, it’s harder to read Andrew than usual. But it’s pretty clear he’s irritated when he says, “You promised you wouldn’t make me talk about it.”

 _I’m not_ , Neil protests.

Andrew twirls the racquet and then bangs it hard against the side of the goal. Wincing, Neil checks for damage, but it seems hardy enough to survive the rough treatment intact.

“Doe! Quit that or I’ll take you out of the game!” the coach threatens. Andrew deliberately turns his head to look at Neil.

 _I didn’t actually promise_ , Neil says, but he grudgingly subsides. He drifts back to his spot on the sidelines and tries to enjoy simply watching Andrew. His movements—though clearly untrained—betray a natural talent Neil hasn’t seen in anyone before. Kevin and Riko had been impossibly good, the way you could only be when a sport was drilled into you from birth. But Andrew looks like he was meant to play Exy, no drilling needed.

Neil imagines picking up a racquet and trying to score on him. What would it take? Would his years of Little League win out over the seemingly unmovable shape of Andrew in the goal?

It’s a good fantasy, one he’ll come back to when he doesn’t have Andrew live in front of him. The rest of the team is pathetic, so Neil doesn’t feel bad keeping his eyes glued on the goal.

There’s only the slightest sheen of sweat on Andrew’s forehead when the coach calls it a day, and Neil thinks that has more to do with the heat of his helmet than anything else. The other kids veer clear of him, but Neil is drawn to him as if magnetized.

 _I really liked that,_ he risks telling Andrew. _I like watching you play. You could go pro, I think._

Andrew lingers far enough behind his teammates that none of them can hear him when he replies, “As soon as I’m out of this cage, I’m never picking up a racquet again.”

A pang of loss goes through Neil. He looks back at the court behind them, small and shabby, but beautiful nonetheless. He doesn’t understand how Andrew can be as good as he clearly is and feel that way. _I’ll have to enjoy it while I can_ , he says instead of voicing that.

Before Andrew can retort, Neil Travels. Just like the two nights before, his mother hasn’t noticed the difference between sleep and the unconsciousness brought on by Traveling. Neil takes a deep breath and closes his eyes, trying to dismiss the excitement that had filled him watching Andrew play. But the swing of Andrew’s racquet keeps echoing in his mind and sleep eludes him.

 

* * *

 

The one thing Abram had over Neilwas Exy. But now Neil has Exy too, and it comes in the form of Andrew.

Neil starts falling asleep in class because he stays up every night to watch Andrew practice. It makes him feel alive in a way he hasn't in years, being on the court with a game taking place around him. He can't believe he'd ever given this up.

The only thing that would make it better would be if Andrew loved it the way he does. But Andrew still refuses to say a single word when Exy is the topic of conversation. He tunes Neil out with ease, turning away from him every time, even though he'll talk about pretty much anything else. Neil doesn't let that deter him, chattering away whenever he feels like it. It's not like he has anyone else he can talk to, after all.

Eventually, his mother notices his distraction. "Is it a girl?" she asks him one day, hand firm on his shoulder. "Because you know better, Abram."

The new bruise on his cheek proves that he does. He shakes his head. "There's no girl," he tells her. "I promise. Just haven't been sleeping well."

"Fix it," she orders. If he actually had nightmares, it would have been a useless commandment. As it is, Neil reluctantly cuts back on his afternoon visits to Andrew, so he can nap and be there for Exy practice in the evening.

Andrew puts up with this for a month. It's a month of ever-increasing silence, turned backs, and tensed shoulders. It ends with Andrew swinging his racquet hard enough against the wall that the frame cracks, netting coming loose and dangling uselessly.

"Doe!" The coach screams, and two of the guards come and escort Andrew to the same solitary room Neil had found him in after the brawl. Andrew goes peacefully enough, but Neil can read the fury on him, like magma bubbling under a thin core of earth.

 _Why did you do that?_ Neil signs at him as soon as the guards close the door. _Did something happen with someone on the team?_

For a long moment, Andrew just looks at him. Then he points a finger. "You happened," he says. His voice is in the process of changing, but it never cracks. Andrew's will keeps it steady, if raspy. "You are breaking our deal."

 _What?_ Neil can't imagine what Andrew is talking about. He's built his life so completely around Andrew that there's no way anything could come into conflict with his promise. _No, I'm not._

"Yes," Andrew retorts. "You are breaking it with Exy."

 _Exy is not a person,_ Neil points out.

"You promised it would just be me and you. But you are putting Exy in the middle of that. It's all you talk about. It's all you are." Andrew moves closer until they are only a hairsbreadth apart. "I made a deal with Neil, not Exy. I want him back."

Thinking back, Neil has a hard time remembering a recent conversation they had that he didn't transform into a rant about Exy. He drops his head so he doesn't have to look at Andrew's face. _Exy is a part of me_ , he defends himself feebly. _It's a part of Neil._

"A part. Not all." Andrew crouches down so Neil can't avoid him. "Until you realize that, no more Exy."

 _But you have to be on a team_ —

Andrew slashes a hand through the air, cutting him off. "No," he orders, solid and unmovable. "No more Exy."

 

* * *

 

The stunt with the racquet gets Andrew benched, but Neil isn't there to see it. He only knows because he overhears two of the other kids talking about it. Andrew doesn't mention it at all.

Neil tries to recover the old joy he'd had just following Andrew around his day. It's not that he doesn't enjoy it, because he does. Andrew is his only friend and therefore a constant revelation; he could never get bored of spending time together. But for a brief period, he'd had his two favorite things together and returning to just having the one seems lackluster in comparison.

Because he hadn't been talking, Andrew's German had stalled out, but he picks it back up exactly where they left off. It doesn't take much time to get him to where he's practically fluent. The only stumbling block is his accent; his German sounds round and soft, like he is talking with his mouth full. Neil tries to coach him, but even though Andrew can hear the difference, he can't seem to execute a change.

 _Well,_ Neil says, giving up after an hour or so of Traveling back and forth to try to get Andrew to pronounce the "ch" sound correctly, _no one will think you're German. But that's okay, I guess._

"I am not trying to hide," Andrew agrees. He closes the textbook and it feels monumental. After all, there'll be no need to open it again. Andrew taps one finger against the beaten cover and looks up at Neil. "You said you know French?"

 

* * *

 

A month passes by, and then another. Neil starts dreaming of the court, of a racquet in his hand and the ball flying toward him. When he hits it toward the goal, Andrew stands still and unmoving. The goal lights up around him, but his features are blank. Neil runs to him, yet can't reach him, and Andrew only allows this for a few moments before turning his back. The new width of his shoulders is forbidding.

It's a warning, as sure as his mother's hand in his hair. Andrew has made it clear that Neil is to leave Exy behind. But just when he thinks he has, something will remind him and bring sharp longing surging back. It feels like a cruel joke when Neil discovers that the route to his new school goes straight by the local junior team's court.

He resists temptation for all of three days. On the fourth day, he waits until the team has left for the night and then breaks in.

Unlike the court at juvie, Neil can feel this court. He trails his hands over everything he passes, from the locker room all the way to the court itself. He presses his palms against the wall of it and breathes it in.

He knows better than to do anything else, but that doesn't stop him from picking the lock on the supply room the next night. There's only one racquet his size and it's heavy, but he takes it anyway. Grabbing a ball, he lugs everything out onto the court and that's when he freezes.

Because fantasizing and watching someone else play are one thing, and actually swinging a racquet himself is another. He's not sure it's something he can come back from.

And of course, it's at this moment that Andrew Travels, appearing between him and the goal. There's no time for Neil to leave or stash his contraband; the slight widening of his eyes makes it clear that Andrew's already fully grasped the situation. But Neil drops the racquet with a clatter and takes off running anyway.

Like a ghost tethered to him, Andrew gets dragged along. Neil hopes he'll get frustrated and Travel back to California, but after an hour of increasingly desperate running, he's still there. Finally, Neil collapses onto a bench in a rundown park far from where he and his mother are squatting and drops his head onto his knees so he can't see Andrew. "I wasn't doing anything," he says. "I hadn't even hit the stupid ball."

He rests there for a while, but unfurls when his back start to ache. The instant he's in sight, Andrew pounces, fingers flying before Neil can look away. _Innocent people don't run_. He pauses, looking around them deliberately. Neil has run a long way. _What were you doing?_

Neil tucks his knees to his chest and curls his hand around the phantom sensation of the racquet. "I just saw it and I wanted it," he admits. "I thought if I could just do something about it, I'd feel better." Instead, he still wants it and he's guilt-filled as well. He doesn't normally feel guilt, but Andrew makes him feel all kinds of things he hasn't felt before. He's not a fan of this one.

Andrew contemplates him for a moment, squatting down so he can get a better view of Neil's face. There's something almost like hesitation in his movements as he says, _You don't know how to have something and not let it be everything._

"What?"

 _I told you to stop because you were letting Exy consume you_. _Before that, being my Traveler was all of you. And before that, you weren't anything but a runaway._

The words pierce to the core of him with deadly accuracy. Neil's knees dig into his rib cage as he pulls them to him even tighter. "I told you I was nothing," he spits out. "That I was no one. I don't know what you want from me."

_I want you to be Neil._

"Who even is that?" Neil asks, and he means it, because he wants Andrew to tell him. If Andrew can tell him who he is, then it will be real and not just something he plays at when they are together. Andrew named him; it's only right that Andrew should make him.

 _Whoever you want him to be_ , Andrew says, the worst kind of answer. _But he's not just one thing. Neil's many things. Neil is everything._

It's too big a concept for Neil to squeeze it inside of himself, much as he tries. "What if I can't be Neil? What if I can only be one thing?"

Andrew's patience is limited, but still he stays kneeling in the dirt of the park, eyes fixed on Neil's face. _You've already been three things_ , he points out. _You can be more._

It doesn't seem like it can be true. "I'll try," Neil says dubiously. "For you. If it'll make you happy."

 _Nothing could_. Andrew stands up and reaches a hand out to glide over the top of Neil's head. The wind ruffles his hair and it almost feels like Andrew. _We'll make another deal,_ Andrew says decisively. _If you stay Neil, then I will let you have Exy through me._

"What does that mean?"

 _Don't let it take you over, and I'll play for you_ , Andrew elaborates. _I'll play with you._

"Really?" Hope—another unfamiliar sensation—flutters in anticipation.

 _Yes._ Andrew fixes him with a hard look. _But I won't be your enabler. You have to keep it under control._

"I will," Neil promises, already flushed with the exhilaration of it. He'll have Andrew and Exy and Neil, the best combination he's stumbled on yet. "I promise."

_Then it's a deal._


	2. Chapter Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's discussion and exploration of both Neil and Andrew's sexualities in this chapter. Warnings for references to Drake and a scene of child abuse.

The month before Andrew turns fifteen, their carefully constructed world is upended. This time, it's on Neil's end. Germany is too small for them to hide from Neil's father, his mother decides. In fact, Europe is too small. And since they’d stand out in Africa, Asia, or South America, they're left to decide between North America and Australia. It's not much of a decision.

"It's a good thing you're learning French," Neil murmurs to Andrew under his breath. He hadn't had time to give him a proper heads up; after Neil missed their usual meeting, Andrew had Traveled to him. The look on his face when he'd found Neil in Zurich Airport had been accusatory.

_People will be suspicious if they see you talking to yourself_. If Andrew had actually been there, he would have drawn far more attention than Neil's whispering. From the way his eyes dart around the room to the stiff set of his shoulders, he looks on edge in a way Neil has never seen before. It’s strange, but Neil gets it. He’s only better due to years of experience.

He walks up to one of the windows by the food court and pretends to look out. With his back to the hoards of people, the subtle movements of his mouth are invisible to everyone but Andrew. "You don't need to worry about us. Our papers are good." It's as much reassurance for himself as Andrew.

_I'm not._ Neil has to slide his eyes all the way to the left to see what Andrew is saying, since he has no reflection in the window. _I've never been in an airport before._

"Really?"

The flat expression on Andrew's face is much more familiar. _Why would I have been in one? I've never left the Bay Area before._

A life that stationary is impossible for Neil to even imagine. He’d never left Baltimore and its suburbs before his mother took him and ran, but that seems like a hazy dream or someone else's life entirely. "Well," he says, "now you've been in one. Are you going to come on the plane too?"

_No._ Andrew's eyes are fixed on one of the jetliners rocketing down the runway. _I hate planes._

"How could you know that if you've never been in an airport?" Neil takes a sidestep closer to Andrew, trying his best to look nonchalant. A glance over his shoulder shows that no one is looking, so he leans in a little. "They're perfectly safe, you know."

The look Andrew directs at him confirms Neil's suspicions. "Are you seriously afraid of flying?" he asks. It's rhetorical; the way Andrew watches the planes is answer enough.

_Falling_ , Andrew corrects. _I'm afraid of falling._ He pauses; it's a hesitation Neil hasn't seen in a while. He remembers it from before juvie. Neil is careful to keep his face blank when Andrew's fingers start moving again. _At one of my foster homes, I fell and I broke some bones. It meant I couldn't get away._

Neil swallows. “I thought—” His voice doesn't work right.

_I know what you thought._ Andrew flicks his fingers, like he’s shaking the words off of them. _It is over now. It will not happen again_.

It has the ring of a promise, and Andrew always keeps his promises. Despite the fact that it's not necessarily something he can guarantee, the steel in his movements makes Neil feel better. He tugs at his hair—it's been dyed again—and shuffles close enough that their arms would be brushing in real life. "Okay?" he asks and holds himself away until Andrew nods.

They spend another minute considering the planes. A few gates down, Neil’s flight is boarding, but his mother doesn't like to get on until the last minute, just in case.

_Quebec,_ Andrew says. _That's only a three-hour time difference._

"We'll figure something out." That's a promise as well.

_It's on the same continent._

Neil digs his fingers into the pockets of the hoodie he's wearing. "That doesn't change anything," he says, and hates it. "I still can't see you. It's dangerous. Plus, you're in juvie."

Andrew nods, and Neil exhales in relief. It takes him by surprise when Andrew says, _When I get out, I will be able to drive. And you won't be able to stop me._

"Andrew!" Neil hisses, but cuts off as someone walks behind him. He forces himself to look bored and boring. By the time the man is far enough away, Andrew is gone and his mother is beckoning him from the gate.

 

* * *

 

Quebec is an adjustment. German has been Neil's primary language for close to four years, but his mother has him well trained and he never slips up. Altering his French to match the Quebecois accent is harder, but luckily, he is a good mimic.

By the time Andrew's birthday comes around, his mother feels settled enough to let him go out on his own for school and food. She doesn't know that Neil also leaves when she's at work sometimes, but she's never known about that.

For his birthday, Andrew plays sick, which gets him put in a solitary room so he doesn't infect Jonathan. Neil ditches school and they travel into Montreal from the suburb Neil's in.

Neil has never really noticed the places he's lived in before, not in the ways a tourist would. He learns the dangerous spots, the best places to hide, and where he can steal a gun, but he's never bothered seeing the nice things as well. With Andrew at his side, it's easier. Everything looks better when Andrew is looking at it with him.

They end up in the Mount Royal park, wandering aimlessly and eavesdropping on the conversations around them. Andrew still doesn't know much French, so Neil translates in an undertone.

Two men sitting close to one another on a park bench make Neil hesitate. "They're talking about sex," he tells Andrew. The idea of repeating the words makes him feel strange.

_What about it?_

Neil is glad he doesn't have to sign the answer; he doesn't know the words for it. "The guy on the right is talking about blowing a guy he met last night."

Only after he says it does he realize that it might bring up bad memories for Andrew. But when he peeks over, Andrew doesn't seem fazed. _What is he saying about it?_ he asks. He stares very intently at the pair, as if he'll be able to understand them through sheer force of will.

Neil's cheeks heat and he scrubs a hand across his face. He doesn’t blush often, but the man is getting very explicit. Even thinking about repeating it to Andrew unnerves him. "Just... details. About—you know."

Andrew turns his attention back on Neil and raises an eyebrow. _You know,_ he repeats. _That's helpful._

The conversation continues on in the background, getting even more intimate. Neil jerks away, walking until he can't see the two men anymore. "It just makes me feel weird to hear about," he says once he’s regained his equilibrium.

_Talking about sex generally makes people feel weird._ Andrew looks less than impressed. _I don't need you to pity me._

"That's not it." Looking down at the ground, Neil tries to figure out how to explain it. "It's like everyone's in on a joke. And it will make sense to me someday, but right now, it's just weird."

_You haven't been interested in anyone?_

"Who would I be interested in?"

Andrew hikes up one shoulder in a shrug, and Neil recognizes it as his own gesture. At some point, Andrew must have adopted it.

_Boys. Girls. People._

"No." There'd been something, but he doesn't really understand it. It's more like noticing than interest. Sometimes he'll see someone and want to keep looking, just because he likes the way they look: a girl in his history class with light hair and dark makeup, a woman in a plum dress on the bus, a tall Exy player from his school in his uniform. But he doesn't want anything other than to look. "Have you?" he asks, even though he doesn't really want to.

_Yes._ Although Andrew is outwardly cool, Neil knows him too well to think he's really unbothered. _Men. I like men._

Several orange leaves fall from a tree ahead of them and Neil watches their descent. "Okay," he says. He wonders if he should be more supportive, if Andrew wants some sort of affirmation from him. Given everything Neil knows, it couldn't have been an easy thing to admit. "Is there anyone in particular or—actually, I guess that would be against the deal?"

_It would_ , Andrew agrees, _if it meant something. Just physical is different._

"Okay." Neil hadn't really thought of the two as something that could be separate. "Is that something you want? Something physical?"

It's an awkward way of putting it, but it's said with as much tact as Neil can muster. And Andrew doesn't turn cold and icy or Travel away, so it can't have been too bad. He still manages to look like he's doing Neil a favor when he simply signs, _Yes,_ though.

"Okay." Involuntarily, Neil starts to picture it. He shoves that thought away while it's still shadowy and indistinct, because he recognizes the outline of it and it's the exact opposite of what Andrew wants. It's just the only time he's ever seen anyone else touch Andrew, other than Cass. To distract himself, he keeps talking. "So, maybe when you get out of juvie, you can—"

_Who says I have to wait until I'm out of juvie?_

That stops Neil dead in his tracks. "You're doing... _that_ in juvie?"

This time, Andrew doesn't deign to answer.

"With who?"

_Jonathan._

"Your roommate Jonathan?"

It's another question that doesn't require an answer; there's only one Jonathan at Andrew's facility. Neil doesn't know much about him, because he's never seen Andrew associate with him much. He's only picked up on the obvious: Jonathan is big and bulky, backliner material. But he plays football instead of Exy, and he leaves Andrew alone like all the rest do. Neil occasionally spots him with a group of three other boys, laughing and fooling around. He hasn't bothered to learn more.

But maybe he should have. He would have, if he’d realized Jonathan would ever be of any importance to Andrew.

"So," he says, still trying to puzzle it out, "you like him? That way?"

_No._ Andrew flicks at Neil's forehead, fingers far enough away that there'd be no chance of it connecting even if he was there. _Listen better. That would break the deal._

"But you have to feel something for him if you're—I don't know—messing around."

_No. I don't._ Andrew's jaw is clenched as he spells it out slowly for Neil. _I like the way he looks, and he listens when I tell him not to touch me. And when he forgets, I can make him remember. It's just getting off. It's not anything more._

Neil is passingly familiar with the idea of casual hookups, more from the bits of TV he catches every now and then than from actually hearing about it. He's only thirteen, after all.

_You're almost fourteen,_ Andrew says, unconsciously mirroring Neil's thoughts. _You'll find out soon enough._

"I don't know if I will." The one time Neil's mom caught him staring too long at a girl, she'd ripped a hunk of his hair out. He hadn't hid it from Andrew, but he hadn't told him the exact reason either. Andrew hadn’t asked. "I don't think it's safe for me to feel like that."

_Nothing is safe for you._ Andrew's eyes are dark and biting again. _Maybe you should go back to the apartment. It's probably not safe for you to be out here either._

This old argument is getting harder and harder to avoid. "It's your birthday," Neil reminds him, trying to get them back on track. "We can do whatever you want." He glances around the park. "I bet there's an Exy court near here," he suggests hopefully.

Andrew gives him a flat look. _That's something for your birthday, not mine_.

He's kept his word, practicing with Neil whenever Neil can find a court and borrow some gear. Mostly, he watches Neil run up and down the court, occasionally giving suggestions or correcting his stance. Neil's favorite practices are when Andrew positions himself in the goal and pretends to block Neil's shots. So far, Neil's only gotten one past him, but he's getting better. Soon, that number will go up to two.

Privately, Neil decides to go looking for a court close to the apartment he and his mother are staying in. But that's for later. "What do you want to do then?"

There's a furrow between Andrew's brows that Neil has never seen before. It makes him look even graver than usual, and Neil holds his breath, waiting. But then the wrinkle is wiped away, as if the still waters of Andrew's face had never been disturbed.

_I want you to eat pouding chômeur for me._

"Seriously?" They'd passed numerous cafes along the way offering the sticky cake, but Neil hadn't even been slightly tempted. "It looks so sweet."

_Yes_ , Andrew agrees. _Eat it and tell me what it tastes like._

Neil is already dreading the syrupy taste. But if he can be Andrew's eyes and ears in Quebec, he can also be his tastebuds. "Okay," he agrees. There's a bubble in his chest that he's come to recognize as happiness. "Birthday cake it is."

 

* * *

 

The next few times he Travels to Andrew, he keeps an eye out for Jonathan. He catches a couple glimpses of him, a stocky boy with nondescript features and tight curls. Neil tries to see if there's anything he missed, but Jonathan seems totally normal, as far as kids in juvie go. He'd been a drug runner for a gang, a multiple offender before he finally got locked up. His mom—single, with three jobs—visits every other weekend to be quietly disappointed in him. He only gets in fights with the rest of his crew behind him. And he barely looks Andrew's way.

Because Andrew isn't stupid, he notices. "Stop that," he tells Neil.

Reluctantly, Neil peels his gaze away from where Jonathan is describing something to his friends with broad gestures and low words. _Why? It's not like he can see me._

"I didn't tell you because I wanted you to stick your nose in."

Neil isn't sure why Andrew did tell him, other than their general honesty policy. But that only applies to direct questions; Andrew had kept Exy from him for long enough and hadn't been the slightest bit remorseful when Neil had found out. Neil can't help thinking that Andrew had wanted him to know about Jonathan for a reason, but he has no idea why.

His eyes stray back to Jonathan. Andrew rattles his fork against his plate to get Neil's attention again. "I told you to stop."

It takes gargantuan effort to keep looking straight ahead at Andrew. _Why him?_ Neil asks, in an effort to figure it out. _He doesn't seem like someone you would like._

Neil recognizes the expression on Andrew's face from when he'd gotten hung up on Exy and cringes away from it. "I don't like him," Andrew says, speaking like Neil is a very small and slow child. "He's hot. He's there. That's all."

Without his permission, Neil's eyes dart back to Jonathan. At the clang of Andrew's fork, he winces and drags his hands over his face. _I just don't get it,_ he complains. _Normally I understand you, even if I don't agree with you. But I don't get this._

“You don’t need to." Andrew turns away, and he's so clearly finished with the conversation that Neil doesn't push him any further.

The next day at school, Neil observes his schoolmates. He pretends to study his textbook in history, but he's really looking at the girl two rows up and one row over, with the bleached hair and black circles painted around the rims of her eyes. Like always, there's something about her that catches his interest; she twirls her pencil and he gets stuck on the movement of her slender fingers. So stuck that he doesn't notice she's looking back at him until their eyes meet.

She smiles, but he's already looking away. He refuses to look in her direction for the rest of class.

 

* * *

 

A nightmare wakes him one night in December. That’s not unusual; Neil’s dreams are lifelike and realistic, and given his life, they normally aren’t ever anything good. Sometimes he gets lucky and he dreams of playing Exy with Andrew or learning a new language with Andrew. Most of the time, though, he dreams about his father or Lola or faceless people with knives. On really bad nights, he dreams that Andrew’s there with him.

It’s one of those nightmares that wakes him. He tries to calm his breaths, counting them in English, then German, then French. The warmth of his mother’s arms around him normally makes it easier, but tonight, she only makes him feel trapped.

Traveling is an impulse decision. It takes barely a thought for Andrew’s room to materialize around him, shaded and dark. It’s night in California as well, but Neil doesn’t mind. He just wants to see Andrew’s face and reassure himself that everything is alright, even though there is no reason for his father to come after Andrew. He’ll feel better if he knows for sure that Andrew is safe.

He’s so relieved by even the thought of it that it takes him a moment to realize Andrew isn’t the only person in the bottom bunk.

It’s not like the other time; Neil can tell that from a glance. Andrew’s smaller body is on top—and the bulkier shape on the bottom must be Jonathan, because Andrew is holding his wrists down and kissing him. As his eyes adjust, Neil can see the way Jonathan’s neck is strained upwards, moving eagerly into each press of Andrew’s lips. In comparison, Andrew is cool, emotionless, mostly unmoving. He holds most of his body away from Jonathan. Only their knees and lips touch.

Neil’s not supposed to see this. Not the way he wasn’t supposed to see the other thing, but he feels wrong seeing it nonetheless. He Travels back before there’s any chance of Andrew noticing him and tries to go back to sleep. He fails.

 

* * *

 

The whole scene gets stuck in his head in that strange, foreign way. At first, he resists thinking about it, shoving the memory down whenever it pops up. It makes him jumpy and irritable, enough that Andrew refuses to practice Exy with him.

_Not until you figure whatever this is out_ , he tells Neil. It’s an invitation as well—to tell Andrew what’s wrong with him, to work it out together. But Neil keeps it to himself. He’s not sure if Andrew would be upset, even if it was a mistake. And their previous conversations about Jonathan just made him feel muddled and stupid. He doesn’t think this new information would change that.

So he thinks about it. He replays the memory, although it’s more like snapshots than anything. Jonathan’s wrists pinned. The bend of Andrew’s knees. Their lips, moving together, so much more messy than in the movies. He doesn’t know how he feels about it. He doesn’t know how he feels about Andrew growing up and kissing people and doing all those things that Neil’s not sure he’s ever going to understand.

He’s thinking about it one day after school while doodling in the margins of his math homework when someone sits on the bench next to him. “Is that trig?” the girl asks. “You must be really smart.”

Normally, Neil would have noticed someone coming up on him. Like always, Andrew has occupied all his attention. He’s disoriented when he glances over, and that’s why it takes him a few seconds to realize it’s the girl: the one from history class, her hair even lighter with the sun shining through it.

“Yeah,” he says, and shuffles his homework away awkwardly. “I have Mr. Dalton.”

“He doesn’t normally take freshman in his advanced class,” the girl comments. “Did you go to some advanced school before you came here?”

“No. Just a normal middle school.”

“So I was right.” She smiles, and the heavy blue color on her lips cracks. “You are really smart.”

Neil doesn’t know what to say to that, so he shrugs, hoping she’ll give up and go away. They’ve never spoken before, and he hasn’t made an attempt to change that. Between his mom’s warnings and his deal with Andrew, talking to anyone but the two of them feels like walking on a particularly narrow tightrope.

She doesn’t give up. “I’m Marta,” she says, scooting closer. “You’re Jason, right? We have history together.”

“Yeah.” He shakes her hand briefly when she sticks it in his direction. “Sorry, I have to go home now.”

“Oh.” She bites down on her lower lip and a bit of the blue paint colors her teeth. “Yeah, of course. It’s just that I—” Hesitating, she slides even closer, pressing their thighs together. The warmth of her seeps into him. “I’ve noticed you looking at me sometimes. And I wanted to say that I’m interested, if you are.”

His mouth has gone dry. “Sorry,” he says again, because he doesn’t know what else to say. “I didn’t mean to stare.”

“I don’t mind. That’s what I’m saying.” When she smiles this time, it’s softer. “And if you want to do more than look, I don’t mind that either.”

Her eyes flicker downwards. Neil’s not stupid enough to misread these signs, not when she’s being so explicit about them. He feels muddled again, because she’s asking a question and he doesn’t know the answer. The warmth of her is soothing; he can imagine pulling her closer, pressing his face against her hair to see if it’s as soft and fluffy as it looks. But what she wants—he’s not sure.

The longer he hesitates, the closer she inches. It seems like she’s taken his silence as some kind of response, and Neil lets her. He keeps his eyes open as she comes flush against him and brings their lips together.

Everyone’s been lying. It feels like nothing. It feels like skin touching skin. His heart is an unsteady drumbeat, but not because it’s incredible. He’s just out of his depth.

She pushes closer and her hair feathers across his cheek. He reaches up to brush it back and enjoys combing his fingers through it more than he enjoys the kiss, even as she grows bolder, pressing eagerly against him. Her lips part and his automatically follow suit, but he has no idea what he’s doing or why he’s doing it.

When her hand comes to rest lightly on his shoulder, he jolts back. She’s flushed and her lipstick is smeared. “That was—” She clears her throat and ducks her head a little. “It was nice. Do you want to go out sometime?”

Involuntarily, Neil imagines telling Andrew that he’s going out with someone. “No,” he says swiftly, and her face falls. “Sorry. I can’t.” He grabs his stuff blindly off the bench. “Sorry,” he echoes and gets away from the bench as fast as he can before she can say anything else.

As soon as he’s out of sight of the school, he breaks into a run and keeps the pace all the way to the apartment. His mom is working the evening shift, so they run into each other at the door.

“Jason,” she says, alarm flooding her voice when she sees him out of breath and shaky. “What is it?”

She’s worried that he’s run into his father’s men, that they need to flee. Neil shakes his head quickly before she can get too worked up. “I’m fine—everything’s fine. You can go to work.”

Not so easily soothed, she draws him into the apartment and catches his face in both hands. They’re of the same height, so it’s easy for her to stare him down. Her gaze stops on his lips, and Neil remembers Marta’s bright blue lipstick.

“Mom—” he tries, but she’s already moving. The force of her slap makes him fall to his knees.

“I told you,” she says dangerously, kicking him in the chest and pinning him down with one foot. He wheezes under the weight of her. “You cannot trust them. Women will just get you in trouble. They’ll make you slow, sloppy. They’ll get you caught. You can’t look at them or trust them. You can’t trust anyone but me. Do you understand?”

He’s too winded to answer her. She kneels down and grabs his neck, tightening her hand around it. For someone with such small hands, her grip is iron. “Women will ruin you. If I catch you looking at one again, I’ll make sure you can’t look twice, do you understand? It’s for your own good.”

“I know,” he manages to get out. “I know, _maman._ I won’t. I promise.”

She holds her pose for several seconds longer, reinforcing what she’s said. Then she releases him. “You have to learn these things,” she tells him, “or you’ll get us both killed.” She steps back and begins moving around the apartment in earnest. “Pack up. We’re leaving.”

“What?” It’s hard to breathe or think through the pain in his chest.

His mother casts her gaze disdainfully over his fallen form. “We can’t stay here now that you’ve drawn attention like this. We need to go. Tonight.”

They’ve only been there a few months, and there’s been no sign of his father, but Neil knows better than to argue. “I’m sorry,” he says, because he knows how much work goes into each and every move. “I’ll do better.”

She doesn’t bother replying.

 

* * *

 

There’s no avoiding telling Andrew about anything this time. Neil’s cradling a bag of slowly melting ice on his ribs in the backseat of their car while his mother drives them north when Andrew Travels to him.

Andrew appraises him with burning eyes. _I could kill her_ , he finally says.

Neil grimaces, but there’s no way he can chance any kind of reply with his mother up front. Even sign language would mean risking her attention.

Andrew doesn’t bother waiting for a reply, instead kneeling down so he can inspect Neil more closely. His fingers twitch when Neil rolls his head to the right to reveal the dark bruise on his cheek.

_You will tell me what happened._

It’s not an order Neil can immediately obey. He doesn’t know how to convey this, so he just stares.

_I know_. Andrew’s gaze rakes over him once more. _Come when you can. Don’t try to delay it._

He doesn’t hang around after that, leaving Neil to nurse his injuries in peace.

 

* * *

 

When Neil Travels that night, Andrew is awake and waiting for him. Neil can’t help but glance at the top bunk, where Jonathan is snuffling softly, dead asleep.

Andrew doesn’t even bother prompting him. Just stares.

Wincing, Neil makes his fingers stumble through his explanation. _My mom found out that I had let this girl kiss me. She got mad._

_You said you haven’t been interested in anyone._

Neil shrugs. _I still haven’t been. She was interested and I just… didn’t stop her._

Andrew’s lips press into a flat line. Neil can almost hear his raspy voice, firm and hard, when he signs, _You should only do that if you want to._

_It’s not that I didn’t want to_ , Neil tries to explain. _I was curious. When she approached me, I didn’t say no._

_Did you say yes?_

Reluctantly, Neil shakes his head.

_Then she should not have touched you._

Neil can’t blame Marta for taking his silence as consent. To some extent, it had been. But there had been another, larger part that hadn’t been sure. Either way, he regrets the entire thing now, so he can’t deny that Andrew has a point.

_Come closer,_ Andrew demands, and Neil sits beside Andrew on the bottom bunk. Something swoops in his stomach; just a few days, Andrew and Jonathan had been kissing on the very same bed.

Andrew reaches out and—after Neil nods his consent—traces the shape of the bruise on his cheek. _You should not have let your mother do this either_ , he says, like it’s that easy. For Andrew, everything is black and white.

It irritating enough that Neil scoots out of range. _She was just upset I disobeyed her._ He curls his knees up to his chest. _We had to move because of it and everything. She says I drew too much attention._

_Because a fourteen-year-old girl is a likely spy for the mob_. Andrew’s sarcasm is near palpable.

Neil can’t afford to joke about it. _We don’t know where my father gets his information_ , he reminds Andrew. _Drawing attention from anyone is bad. We need to be able to leave and not be remembered_.

Andrew’s gaze flicks deliberately to Neil’s cheek. _And no one will remember a child who’s clearly being abused._

Neil tries to sigh, but as always, nothing he does makes any noise. It makes him feel like a ghost, like Neil is nothing more than a construct created to be in this place with Andrew. Like when he leaves, Neil will be left behind.

Maybe Andrew can see it on him, because he just says, _We do not have to talk about it now._

With the old argument set aside, they sit in companionable silence. Neil presses one hand to his still throbbing ribs and counts the swells of pain; if he can still feel them, he is still real.

_Why didn’t you say no?_ Andrew asks abruptly. His eyes are fixed slightly to the right of Neil’s face, but Neil gets the feeling he’s still being watched intently.

_What?_

_Why did you let her kiss you?_

This is the moment when Neil should confess to having seen Andrew with Jonathan. But he can’t force his fingers to make the words. _Like I said, I was curious,_ he hedges—it’s true enough. _I couldn’t stop thinking about you and Jonathan._

Andrew twists away, hiding his face. One hand fists in his blanket as he stares at the door. Neil waits patiently for him to look back and reply, but after a couple of minutes, it becomes clear that Andrew isn’t going to say a thing.

Neil leans over and sticks a hand in front of his face. Normally, this would garner him some sort of reaction, but Andrew’s face is a still mask when he finally deigns to glance Neil’s way.

_What?_ Neil asks.

Andrew looks down at his hands and tugs the ends of his sleeves down. Very slowly, he signs, _You are very young._

It feels like an evasion. Neil begins to press further, but then remembers his own almost lie and brings his hands down.

Andrew watches the movement and nods like it’s confirmed something. _I’m going to bed,_ he announces. _You should too. You need to heal._

Neil waits until Andrew has settled in, blankets pulled all the way up over his nose so his eyes are only just visible over the edge. It makes Andrew look younger than fifteen, and Neil can’t help smiling a little. _Exy tomorrow?_ he asks hopefully.

This does get him an eye roll. _Heal first, junkie_ , Andrew tells him after a moment. _Then find a court. But sleep now._

Neil follows his advice.

 

* * *

 

That night, he has one of his rare good dreams. He and Andrew are laying together on Andrew’s bed, a foot of space between them. They’re speaking—out loud, both of them—a gibberish mix of English, German, and French. Then Andrew reaches for Neil’s hand.

Neil expects it to sink through like usual. The feel of Andrew’s skin against his own is all it takes to shock him awake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed! Next chapter... the other exception.

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on [Tumblr](http://sunrise-and-death.tumblr.com).


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